


Adapting

by Sera_Clay



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sera_Clay/pseuds/Sera_Clay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzington, post S2 E22, angst, romance.<br/>No, they are not mine; for all that I'm using them, there is no adverse possession.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time

The first time Liz considers sending Red away is less than a month after their flight begins.

They're in a small town somewhere in South America; she can't pronounce the name, and they arrived after dark and plan to leave before dawn.

Liz was starving and insisted on eating grilled street food outside their tiny hotel. She has an iron gut and assumed after all his travels that Red did as well.

They are sharing a room, an infrequent occurrence, and she's already arranged several pillows down the center of the bed and turned down the covers as she waits for him to finish in the small, attached bathroom.

The walls are thin. She can hear exactly how badly his stomach was now upset.

She sits on the foot of the bed, staring at the makeshift wall of pillows.

The first time they had to share a room and a bed for the night was less than a week after their flight began. 

Red was apologetic at the failure of his arrangements, but they were moving so quickly.

"Don't worry, Red," Liz assured him. "You may be a criminal, but I know you're a gentleman."

He looked at her across the expanse of the king sized bed, a curious expression crossing his face and disappearing before she could identify it.

Liz pulled several pillows from the mound at the head of the bed, folded back the covers, and lined them up, dividing the bed in two.

"See? Plenty of privacy, and I'll feel safer with you close, anyway."

Red hadn't originally planned to travel more than a day or two in her company, but she had become almost hysterical at the thought of him leaving her.

"Very well, Lizzie." He had sounded resigned but not unhappy at the time, and they've only had to share a bed twice since then.

She shouldn't have teased Red tonight about how good the grilled meat tasted. She knows by now how much he enjoys his meals, little islands of pleasure in the sea of discomfort occasioned by constant travel.

If she sends him back to his ordinary life of crime, forges on alone with the shifting array of bodyguards who accompany them, he'd certainly be more comfortable.

Liz is coming to terms with her own decisions at last, and it feels as if her eyes are opening on a new world. One where she can look at Red and think about him, rather than herself. Perhaps even pick up the threads of her discarded project, coming to understand and profile the concierge of crime.

Misjudging him so badly on the subject of her past has left her flinching away from probing directly for more secrets. She just can't handle despising herself any more than she already does.

The bathroom door opens at last, and Red emerges with a pinched look around his mouth, still in his suit and tie.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" Liz asks, and Red gives a little shake of his head, not looking at her as he lifts his fedora from the bedside table closest to the hotel room door.

He always sleeps on the side between her and the door.

"I'm very sorry about..." his mouth moves as he pauses, one hand flicking in the direction of the bathroom, and she smiles at him, dimpling, hoping he'll look at her and see that she understands. That she's not bothered at all.

But he holds his face averted, clearly mortified.

Then he's striding for the door without a glance, without further words. Liz watches him go, hears a brief exchange of words with their bodyguards on the other side of the door.

Red doesn't come to bed until the early hours of the morning, smelling of cheap brandy and smoke from the hotel bar downstairs, and he sleeps in his clothes atop the covers for a bare two hours before they rise and ride by jeep through the darkness to a small airfield, and they're on their way again.


	2. The Second Time

The second time is in Venice.

There are so many places around the globe that she's never visited or explored, and Red has conceded, after three months of almost constant movement, that it's now safe to linger for a week at a time in some of most popular tourist destinations, where they can pretend to be just another pair of American tourists.

Liz has been planning their daily itineraries with great enthusiasm. Trying to see everything while she's so briefly here.

Emerging from a restroom just off the Piazza San Marco, Liz ducks behind a group of nuns, habits flying, and then secrets herself behind a pillar.

Dressed in a white linen three piece suit, Red is sitting on a bench, waiting for her to emerge. Liz wants to watch him for a moment, see what he's looking at when she's not with him. He's been unusually quiet today.

Red glances around, then pulls out his pocket handkerchief and wipes his face.

He's sweating a little, his face bright with color despite the brim of his straw hat. The scene tilts for a moment, turning her familiar companion into a stranger.

A heavy, balding, older man is panting with exhaustion in the heat. He looks uncomfortable, and miserable, and just a little sorry for himself.

Liz is wearing a short, sleeveless printed silk dress and leather sandals, and her straw hat is much larger. And still she's feeling hot, bustling around from churches to museums to shops. Insisting on walking everywhere, to get the flavor of the city.

He isn't holding up well. But if she sends him away, she realizes, she would miss him so much.

Liz watches as Red fans himself briefly with his hat, then adjusts his brown tinted sunglasses when they slip a little down his nose.

He's been suggesting coffee, or an ice, or a proper luncheon, for hours.

Liz doesn't get hungry when she's excited, but she's suddenly ashamed of dragging Red around without respite. He's acceded to so many of her whims, as if it was his fault, not hers, that they have ended up in flight together.

She emerges from behind the pillar and watches as his face changes the moment he catches sight of her.

"Lizzie!" Red bounces up on his feet, apparently filled with energy. "Did you tip the attendant? I forgot to offer you some change."

His tone is genial, his green eyes bright with interest.

"Yes, Red, I did," she smiles back at him. "But my feet hurt. Can we try some of that gelato you keep promising me, now?"


	3. Slower

Red notices, of course, when her pace slows, and she requests more frequent stops for refreshments.

"You don't have to change your plans for me," he informs her, putting his head through the connecting door between their suites in the small, high-ceilinged hotel that was once a palazzo. For safety, they always leave any doors between them unlocked, as well as open at least a crack unless one of them needs privacy. "I can keep up with you just fine."

He's almost dressed for dinner already, but she's still in her robe, blow-drying her hair. She sets down the small hand dryer on the bathroom vanity and steps into her room so she can see him. He's tying his bow tie in front of the mirror over her dresser, and with his back to her he's strangely anonymous, just a man in elegant dinner dress, save for the silvery curve of his neatly shorn head.

She likes the shape of that head, Liz notes to herself, and also his small, beautifully formed ears, so close to his skull. At a museum this morning she found herself comparing the ears on several Roman statutes unfavorably to Red's ears.

"Red, I heard what you said on the vaporetto, about only visiting one island a day. It just took me a little time to process it."

Liz combs her fingers through her head. Still so damp. She'd thought it might be simpler to cut it all off, but the last time she mentioned that possibility, Red spent the remainder of that day and the next one dropping occasional comments on what lovely hair various women possessed. Women with long, long hair. And she knew that's as close as he would come to asking her.

"Yes?"

Tie in place, he turns, raising his brows.

"You said it was better to create a few, intense memories, rather than rush and end up with a jumble."

He gives her a skeptical look, and she giggles.

"Well, something like that. I'm sure you were much more articulate."

His mouth moves, then he makes a little shooing gesture at her. 

"Go finish getting ready, Lizzie. They'll run out of food if you don't hurry."

An old joke between them by now, the evening in Greece where they ended up eating octopus. Liz still wasn't quite sure that Red hadn't bribed the taverna's owner to say that all the other dishes were sold out, to pay her back for taking such a long bath and delaying their meal.


	4. Wetter

A week later they are visiting a small island in the Indian Sea, staying in a thatch roofed villa on the ocean, built in the Balinese style.

Red sits by the pool in shorts and a short sleeved shirt, reading, as Liz floats on her back.

"Why don't you ever swim with me, Red?" she asks him, admiring the rich color of her skin after lazy days in the sun. Her white bikini is skimpy and tight, perfect for the pool. She has a one piece suit for the rougher waters of the ocean.

He lifts his drink from the bamboo table at his elbow that matches his lounge chair, and takes a sip before responding. 

"Oh, I'm not much of a swimmer, Lizzie. But you go ahead."

"You'd really rather read those reports Dembe sent than float around with me?" Liz swims to the side of the pool nearest Red and folds her arms on the stone edge. "It's hot, Red. Come on in the water with me," she coaxes.

He looks down at her over the top rim of his sunglasses.

"This work is important," he tells her, biting the inside of his cheek as she pushes herself up on her hands and hops, dripping, out of the pool. "The research to expose the Cabal is finally underway."

Liz strolls toward him.

"Wanna bet I can't throw you in the pool?" she teases.

There's a flash of fear in his eyes, and something else in the lines at the corners on his mouth. Regret. She's spent so many hours watching Red's face, awake and asleep.

Liz pauses, puts her hands on her hips.

His shirt is unbuttoned at the throat, enough to glimpse just a little of his chest hair, but that and his still-pale calves in knee length shorts are as much of his body as she's seen this entire trip. 

Liz thought he was being so careful to protect her modesty, but perhaps it was his?

"Red, I need to ask you something."

"Yes, Lizzie?"

She approaches and seats herself beside him on the edge of his lounge chair, the brush of her wet thigh against his shorts something new, as well.

Red sets the thick folder of information aside.

"Are you refusing to swim with me because of something about your body? Something you don't want me to see?"

He arches his eyebrows comically, as if about to respond with some sort of innuendo, then winces under her steady gaze.

"Yes."

Nothing more.

Liz purses her lips. She doesn't lie well, especially to Red, but she's been practicing. Distraction. That's the key.

Ignoring the quiver that runs through him, Liz sets her wet palm on his thigh, gives him a pat that's almost a stroke. Leaving the dark, wet mark of her fingers on his shorts for him to stare at, as she lifts her hand and turns her palm up in a gesture of resignation.

"Red, you do remember being arrested by the FBI? Booked and photographed?"

His face sets in a grimace, and she swallows convulsively, but by the time he looks back into her eyes she's blushing so hard all he can do is sigh softly.

"So sorry, Red, but that's not one of the ways you can still manage to shock me."

"Lizzie..." he begins. Breaks off, then stares back down at the hand print on his thigh.

"Swim with me?"

She tilts her head, and he gives a deeper sigh, then shakes his head. 

"Very well, but they're worse in person," he cautions her.

What on earth does he mean?

Liz stands as he leans forward and rises from the lounger, turning his back to her before slipping off his shirt.

His back is covered with horrific burn scars, the pure white skin of his undamaged flesh bright in contrast with the shiny whorls and bubbles that stretch from high on his back to disappear beneath his shorts.

Red stands without moving for a few seconds, as if allowing her time to absorb the sight, affording Liz the chance to collect her thoughts. Her mind is flooded with questions, but she'll have to wait to ask them. Wait a long, long time, until he will never guess that they were spawned by this moment.

She focuses instead on the curves of his upper body. His shoulders are unusually broad, probably what gives him such an air of power in his suits, and they descend in a smooth arc to the bulge of his waist, where the high, rounded curve of his ass begins, large as well, but perfectly in proportion.

And what is she thinking, to look at Red's body like this? To imagine her hands reaching out to touch and squeeze that tempting flesh?

Red looks over his shoulder, and chuckles as he catches her staring, drawing her even more fiery gaze back up to his face.

"Ready to swim?"

He gives a little wag of his hips, infuriating, impossibly appealing, then jumps into the pool.

Thankfully, Liz follows him, feeling the cool water close over her head with an amazing sense of relief.


	5. Another Time

They swim together every day now, long lazy hours in the ocean, refreshing dips in the pool before breakfast and late at night.

He's almost abandoned shirts, only shrugging one on for meals and removing it soon afterward.

Beside the pool on their last day, Liz lies on her side, legs scissored to perfect her tan, watching Red doze.

He's sleeping on his back with his hat tipped over his face, chest hair ruffled in the light ocean breeze. Red tans slowly, the golden tone not hiding the patterns of tiny freckles that dot his unscarred skin. The loose flesh of his belly is bisected by a dark line of hair, descending into his navy blue swim trunks.

She's spent so much time in Red's company, but somehow managed not to think of him as a man. 

Oh, she's enjoyed parading on his arm in expensive gowns, basked in the safety and security of his presence. Taken his courtly gestures, holding doors open for her, seating her at dinner, even the way he offers her his arm occasionally when they're strolling in public, for granted. 

And Liz has felt some new emotion run through her every time she watches him strip off his jacket to reveal his weapons rig.

She'd thought it was an appreciation of the implicit violence, some new instinct rising in her, natural to the hunter unwillingly become the hunted.

But now she wonders, having gained a little of her self-confidence back, whether Red ever thinks of her as a woman.

He flatters her, certainly, pays her all the compliments she could ask for and more. But always in a light tone, never becoming significant. As if he appreciates her like a work of art, standing at a safe distance behind a velvet rope.

If he flirts with her at all, it's with laughter lurking in the back of his eyes. Not caressingly, the way she's seen him with other women. No real invitation to more intimacy, for all that they've shared by now.

She knows so many little things about him. That he hates worn or torn clothing, throwing out his dress socks long before they have holes or runs. That he's fastidious about his fingernails, passionate about ripe pineapple, that he runs long, long baths at least twice a week. Not only to bathe.

He left the bathroom window open once in Paris, and Liz sat wide-eyed on their balcony, afraid to move for fear he could tell she was listening. Just one more very intimate thing Liz knows about Red, despite the easy, comfortable, but sexless tone of their relationship.

He surely knows so many things about her by now, too. If he found her at all attractive, wouldn't he have given her some indication?

"I can feel you staring at me, Lizzie" says Red from beneath his hat.

"Sorry, Red," she responds, then impulsively leans over and fits her forefinger into his belly button, giving his tummy an affectionate little shake, then a squeeze. He all but freezes, and she laughs nervously and removes her hand.

"Just had to do that."

"Roll over and tan your other side now, Lizzie," he advises her, covering his belly button ostentatiously with both hands. "And leave an old man to his nap."

He doesn't really sound irritated, though.

She rolls over obediently, thinking about the feel of his warm, soft flesh beneath her fingers, the springy dark hairs and his smooth, fine pored skin.

If she can't get her thoughts under control, she'll have to send him away. After everything he's done for her, the consistent caring and generosity he's shown her, Liz can't indulge herself at his expense. She owes him her freedom and her life. He deserves so much better from her.


	6. A Line Is Drawn

He draws the line, finally, at snowboarding.

"Lizzie, I love to ski, I will tolerate snowmobiles, and even slog myself into exhaustion on snow shoes if I must."

She tilts her head from one side to the other, enjoying the way the bright blue pom pom on her knit wool cap bounces, Red's eyes following the motion before he catches her grin of amusement.

"You go on without me. Take a lesson first, get the feel of the mountain. Then meet me up there."

He gestures at the broad terrace of the ski lodge, where numerous red and white umbrellas shade tables with breathtaking views of the slopes.

Liz pretends to pout.

"I'll ski with you instead, if you'd like?" she offers.

They only have a week here, and the first two days of heavy snow kept them confined to their room. The lodge is packed to bursting, and they mostly opted for room service to avoid the crowds and the wait.

Red shakes his head. "We can ski tomorrow. I'd prefer to people watch today."

Liz knows what that means. He'll sit with a drink until he spots someone interesting, find a way to make conversation, and by the time she returns he'll be sitting in a circle with his newest best friends, regaling them with stories and extracting information in return.

Their current passports show them as man and wife.

But even when she's traveling as his assistant, his daughter, or his niece, she's never once seen him go further than flirting with the attractive women of all ages who fall prey to his charm. Red enjoys their attentions, their flattery. But he doesn't indulge.

Liz has had a few offers from attractive men on every continent by now. But turning them down is easy, with Red at her side. She wants him so much more than she wants them, could ever want them, that his chaste companionship is preferable despite the gnawing sexual deprivation spawned by her unwonted celibacy.

Months. It's been six months. Red must be feeling it too. 

Even as she responds to Carl, her handsome young Dutch snowboarding instructor, who can't be more than 25, as she carves her way through fresh powder and laughs hard whenever she falls, Liz puzzles again and again at the restraint Red is displaying. They are seldom apart for as long as they will be this afternoon, and she's never noticed any sign of the presence of another woman in his room, or in his arms.

He smells deliciously of cologne, not perfume. He washes himself at least twice a day if possible, morning and evening, and shaves twice as well. But Liz is sure she would know.

Carl accompanies her for the afternoon, waving off any further payment although she only paid for an hour of lessons.

"I work only when I want," he boasts, his light blue eyes crinkling happily in his deeply tanned face as he waits with her at the lift once again.

She's happy for the company, his slim, strong body a pleasure to watch as he coaches her all afternoon. And it's nice to be admired by a younger man, to receive compliments on her rusty moves, to push herself to her physical limits and know Carl will easily keep up with her.

"Let me at least buy you a drink," she tells him, heading for the lodge with him trailing behind her.

"Room service?" he suggests hopefully.

Liz shakes her head, pom pom bouncing, before responding "No, out here. You can meet my husband."

Carl takes hold of her arm just before they reach the far end of the terrace, where Red sits surrounded by a group of men his own age, their table littered with glasses and plates.

"You don't act like a woman with a husband," he protests.

She did flirt with him a little. But she didn't ask him if he was single, either.

"Which one is he?" Carl demands in a jealous tone.

For a moment, Liz wishes that she had left him with a handshake at the base of the mountain. 

Red looks up, gives her a too wide, overly charming smile.

"Lizzie! You must come and try this cocktail," he calls out. "And do introduce us to your new friend."

The men around the table pull their chairs together, opening a space for Carl to sit. He eyes the group, gives Liz a little squeeze on the arm.

"Old guys," he whispers into her ear in a tone of disgust, turning his head so the group can't see his lips. At least he has that much sense. "Only for you, Elizabeth."

He strolls to the empty chair, seats himself, then begins making conversation as Red passes him a drink.

Liz almost stomps away as Red gives her a casual wave of his hand, indicating a seat beside and somewhat behind him, not really at the table where the men are now laughing at a joke told by Carl.

She looks down at the thick, curly blond hair revealed as Carl doffs his ski hat, then over at Red, catches him rubbing the back of his head for a moment. Red's eyes widen, and Liz blushes helplessly.

Rounding the table to take the seat Red indicated, Liz hopes he thinks she's responding to Carl. She tries so hard never to stare when Red can see her staring, which sometimes makes for short and tiring nights.

If he falls asleep first, she loves to prop herself up on one elbow and gaze across the line of pillows at his profile.

"Here you go, Lizzie."

With a start, Liz realizes she's just sitting beside Red without reaching out for the glass of pale purple liquid he's trying to hand to her.

"Sorry. I guess I'm tired," she apologizes, then adds, as she notices Carl staring at them from across the table, "Thank you, darling."

The cocktail is delicious, and her seat provides an excellent vantage point from which to watch Red's hands moving, his lovely fluid gestures punctuated by occasional shrugs of his broad shoulders.


	7. So Long

They are both rather tipsy by the time Red escorts Liz back to their room.

"Would like the bathroom first?" he offers, and she nods, grabbing her nightwear and shutting but not locking the door behind her. Even here, where they feel relatively safe, with only two bodyguards sharing the room across the hall, Red has cautioned her against ever allowing a locked door to separate them.

Liz showers quickly, then leans back against the cold white marble of the shower wall, focusing the hand held shower to a single hard stream of water and allowing it to pound up and down the sore muscles of her thighs.

She wishes she could ask Red to massage her weary legs, but she couldn't hide her arousal. With her free hand, Liz cups each of her breasts in turn, stroking soap over her nipples. Imagining Red's fingers instead of her own.

The shower finds its way between her thighs, and she presses her back hard against the marble, whimpering soundlessly as the tension builds slowly, her hands shaking with the effort she's making to stay silent. She'd prefer her fingers in bed, but this works well enough, her body curling involuntarily, muscles clenched tight, as she finds wave after wave of release.

At least she'll sleep well tonight.

Emerging from the bathroom in her lacy white nightgown, she finds Red sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently for his turn in the bathroom. Tie and vest discarded, Red has set out the loose, dark green flannel pajamas that turn his eyes a matching deep green, and he's intently studying something on his tablet, but he clicks it off before she can see what it was.

"Sorry that took so long," she tells him, circling to her own side of the bed. 

"I'm a big boy, I can wait for my turn," he informs her rather dryly, then disappears into the bathroom.

Sliding into bed, Liz feels her heart give a sudden, hard thud as the sound of the shower begins. That hard spray. She didn't realize the soundproofing here was so poor.

Red is usually so careful, but perhaps tonight she'll hear those sounds again? Gasps that turn almost to sobs, a crescendo she replays in her mind far more often than is good for her.

His shower is brief, though, and he shuts out the light before climbing into bed and rolling to his side, facing away from her.

"Good night, Red," she tells him, peering over the pillows at the back of his head.

"Good night," he responds, his voice unusually deep. She'd give anything to be able to reach over and stroke his close-shorn scalp, even once, to fall asleep with the feel of him beneath her fingertips. Any part of him at all.

But an unspoken rule has remained inviolate until now - they do not allow any body parts to cross the line of pillows.

If one of them has a nightmare, the other gets up and circles around the bed, so that they wake each other and offer comfort with the covers between them, not breaching that imaginary wall.

Liz can hear him breathing, feels the bed dip as Red shifts his knees, trying to get comfortable.

Red has sore joints, occasional muscle cramps. He'd probably benefit from a leg massage as well.

"Lizzie?" His voice still deep, the questioning note somber. He knows she's not asleep yet, it's been taking her longer and longer due to the distraction of his physical presence.

"Yes, Red?"

"Do you want to spend the day with Carl tomorrow, as well? We can ski on the weekend, if you'd prefer."

The lump in her throat appears with surprising speed. If Liz had somewhere to go, somewhere other than the cold, damp marble of their shared bathroom, with that too-thin wall, she'd leave the bed now and have a good long cry in private.

She can understand if Red doesn't want her, if she's too young, not his type. If she feels like a burden rather than an equal partner.

But for him to push her at another man? 

Maybe she should send him away.


	8. An Unwelcome Offer

"Lizzie?" The silence has stretched too long, and the bed moves again as Red rolls over, then leans up on one elbow. 

She pulls her pillow over her face, trying to school herself to indifference.

"I don't know, Red," she answers, her words muffled and low. Hopefully sounding sleepy, not as wretched as she feels.

He clears his throat.

"Shall I give you a day or two alone? Several of the gentleman I met today own homes in the area - I'm sure I could find a secure place to stay."

He's offering to leave her alone so she can amuse herself with Carl.

There's no true playfulness in his tone though, no teasing or innuendo. 

If she concentrates just on the sound of his voice, which is easier with her face hidden, she'd have to describe it as determinedly cheerful, with just a hint of something else.

She can't have this conversation. Not now, not in bed.

Liz lifts the pillow up just enough to be sure he can hear her words, but not high enough for him to see her face.

"Stop trying to pimp out your wife, and go to sleep," she tells him. Realizing too late how much of an order it is, not a request. He won't be able to miss the intensity; she can only hope he somehow misinterprets it.

"Lizzie, I've hurt or offended you, haven't I?"

His voice is so coaxing, so repentant. Red hates to leave anything unsettled between them prior to sleep; conflict often triggers the worst of his nightmares, and neither of them want that.

She can't lie to him. But she doesn't want a repeat of this situation either, ever again. They have at least two more months of weekly changes in location before they can return for a longer stay at one of the villas in the South Pacific.

He's not going to let this drop.

Liz pulls herself out of bed, walks slowly to the closet, and pulls on the long, plush hotel robe she finds hanging there. It smells of Red's cologne.

Belting it tight at the waist, she approaches the bed once more. Red has turned on the wall mounted reading lamp, and propped himself in a sitting position against the low headboard with his pillow.

He gestures in silent invitation, just a flick of his palm, and she sits down on the edge of the bed, close to his feet.

"Red, I don't want you to leave."

His eyes widen slightly, his mouth twitching.

She gives him a reproving frown. Trust Red to put the most extreme interpretation on anything she says. He has such a wicked sense of humor, even under pressure.

"I'm not interested in Carl. Not that way."

He nods slowly, his hands folded in his lap atop the covers. 

"So please don't suggest that again."

Liz takes a deep breath, finds herself rubbing at her scar and stills her fingers with an effort.

"Very well, Lizzie." Red tilts his head, then licks his lips. They glisten with the moisture, mobile, expressive. Eminently kissable.

He raises his brows.

Liz knows that questioning expression all too well. If she remains silent, he'll either ask her a pointed question she doesn't want to answer, or worse, provide a running commentary with his analysis of the situation, using her responses to guide him to the truth.

"About anyone," she adds, then wishes she hadn't as his eyes narrow, a new train of thought clearly taking off in some unknown direction.

"Anyone?" he asks her. "Ever?"

Red knows enough about her past to have realized already how unusual prolonged celibacy is for her. At first, she was shaken and frightened, and grieving for the law-abiding life she threw away. And they spend so much time together, even if they are involved in separate activities and don't speak or interact for hours despite being in the same room, that she hasn't had much time alone. Even if she had been interested in any of the men who approached her.

"You haven't asked me for time apart, either," she deflects, giving the belt of the robe a little tug to tighten it further.

His expression softens for a moment.

"Keeping you safe and occupied has taken precedence over my ... needs."

His voice deepens, and his green eyes glitter at her as his lips draw up into a bitter little smile that's not really a smile, self-mocking, almost cruel.

Needs. He acknowledged that he has needs.

Her brain overloads as Liz stares at his lips, feeling her tongue flick out to lick her own lips as she parts them in a deeper breath. 

Her desire has to be written all over her face, but Red hasn't reacted at all. He's just staring at her mouth, as though he's mesmerized too.

"So if we both have needs ..." she manages to whisper, finally. 

They are breathing in unison now, and she can feel the alcohol still in her system giving her courage, while he seems frozen in place, almost frightened.

"Lizzie," he whispers, a note of warning in his voice, a unspoken plea in his wide eyes. For mercy? For her to take the next step?


	9. A Risk

She can stand up, return to her own side of the bed.

Or she can ask him, offer, and risk rejection.

Liz sets her hand on his foot, rubs each of his toes, one by one, through the covers. Still watching his mouth, allowing herself to enjoy this first touch. 

"This would feel better on bare skin," she whispers, standing once he gives a little nod, so as to free the covers so he can fold them back.

Liz unbelts the robe, drops it to the floor. Then she seats herself on the bed, lifting her nightgown above her knees to sit cross-legged, and pulls his feet into her lap, rubbing one with each hand. Pushing up the legs of his pajama pants just enough to reach his ankles as well.

"Oh, Lizzie."

Red has long, slender feet, beautifully shaped and still faintly tan. 

His hands are crossed protectively at his groin, one of his thumbs twitching, rubbing at the back of his other hand.

She rubs each foot firmly, working deep into the sole of each foot with both hands, then rubbing the tops of both together. Tugging and rubbing at his toes, admiring how soft his feet are, how neatly he grooms even his toenails.

Every inch of him is delicious.

Liz licks her lips and raises his right foot with both hands, takes a breath, and engulfs his big toe with her mouth.

"Lizzie!" 

Sucking his toe wetly in and out of her mouth, her tongue flicking the tender underside, she peeps up at Red from under her lashes.

He's watching her in complete disbelief, his mouth hanging open, taking huge breaths as he stares wild-eyed down the length of his pajama clad body.

Liz flicks the tip of his toe with her tongue several times, then gives it an open-mouthed kiss. She can't quite manage the words, so she tugs at the bottom of his pajama leg.

His hands move at once to the waistband of his pajama pants, untying the cord that gathers them at his waist, an older style he prefers to elastic waistbands.

Red pauses, waits until she tugs at both pajama legs. Off. She wants them off.

Adjusting his position in bed to lie flat on his back, he eases them down to reveal a truly impressive erection, bobbing slightly as he lifts his hips, bending his knees. Liz leans forward and tugs the pajama pants down the rest of the way, removing them and setting them at the foot of the bed. Red won't wear them again if she throws them on the floor.

He strokes himself slowly as she watches him. He's still wearing a dazed expression of disbelief.

"Do you want me to take this off?" she asks him, plucking at the lacy fabric of her nightgown.

Red nods, his mouth opening a little wider, his hand slowing, squeezing. Liz can barely stand to miss even the second or two of his shameless display that it takes for her to pull her nightgown over her head. 

Then she crawls up the bed on hands and knees, feeling her breasts swaying, dipping to brush them against his quivering thighs. Closing her eyes, she licks his moving hand, then takes him in her mouth, sucking and licking as he strokes himself until she can taste him, feel him shudder as he swiftly nears completion.

Liz lifts her face, licks her lips, and sets one hand on the bed at his side, raising up onto all fours once again. Red breathes hard, in and out, his hand no longer moving.

Very slowly, she sets one knee, then the other, outside of his thighs, nudging them together. Watching his face as she crawls forward and positions herself over him.

He groans as she lowers herself down on him, feeling herself stretch almost painfully, watching his eyes roll back as she works her way to the base of him in slow, tiny movements, each one drawing him just a little deeper.

His hands come to her breasts, and he tugs them towards his mouth, straining up towards her, so she curves her body, sliding slowly up and down as he kisses and licks her nipples, then suckles at them as he hardens further within her, as if he's trying to stifle his customary cries of ecstasy.

His expression is desperate, his face pinched hard as if in agony.

Liz slows their pace even further, presses gently against his shoulders until he lies back again, then brings their faces together and breathes just above Red's parted lips.

"Red."

His eyes flutter open, his tongue circling his lips.

She kisses him on the mouth for the first time, very tenderly. Riding him as lightly as she dares, holding him trembling at the brink. Lifting almost all the way up off him, then sliding back down so slowly and rocking against him.

"Red. Make noise for me," she whispers, and at last those deep, needy sounds burst forth from him. Liz moves faster in encouragement, until at the very end he grabs her waist and rolls her effortlessly beneath him, pounding down into her in perfect rhythm with his sobs of joy, then collapsing into her arms as she winds her legs around him, climaxing as hard as she ever has in her life.


	10. So Good

She doesn't remember falling asleep, but she's half-awake when she feels him beginning to shift away from her, sticky and wet, still wearing his pajama top, the green flannel so soft against her tender nipples.

Liz rolls sleepily onto her side, trying to keep her arms and legs around him.

"Red," she murmurs. "Red."

He's tugging at the pillow, lifting her head to position her more comfortably. Then he kisses her nose, her cheek, brushes the lightest of kisses over her lips.

Their faces are so close, his breath is warm on her skin, still a little boozy despite the minty undertones of his toothpaste.

He tastes so good.

Liz returns the kisses, in the same order, then allows her lips to cling to his, teasing him with her tongue. She wants to memorize the feel of each tooth, kiss him for hours until her lips are bruised and swollen with kissing.

"Red," she whispers. "Red. So good."

His arms pull her close, his voice so husky.

"Sleep now, Lizzie, sleep."

She sleeps.


	11. The Morning After

Liz sleeps late and wakes sore, head to toe, from overdoing it on the slopes. And last night. She begins to stretch, then freezes as the memory of why certain parts of her body are over-sensitive returns in a rush.

Red.

He's not in bed with her, but she's still on his side of the bed. Blinking, Liz sits up, not bothering to cover herself.

Red is fully dressed, sitting across the room in an armchair, reading the morning paper in the sunlight slanting through the gap in the curtains. 

He glances over at her, eyes widening in evident appreciation.

"Good morning, Lizzie," he greets her. "There's fresh coffee, and some marvelous little rolls. Something different in each one, I believe."

Liz rolls her stiff shoulders, thinking fast. She can be casual about this, play along with Red, or she can be honest.

Last night was incredible. She wants to risk honest.

"Red, come here for a sec, please?" she asks him.

He raises his brows, looking worried for a brief moment, then folds the paper and strolls over to sit on the side of the bed.

Liz holds out her hands, and he takes them at once.

She searches his familiar features, his smoothly shaven jaw, bright green eyes, the clean line of his nose. That sensitive, almost pretty mouth.

"Yes, Lizzie?" 

He sounds so normal, as if nothing has changed between them. 

"About last night?"

He nods, only a twitch at the corner of his left eye betraying the sudden tension she can feel in the air, his hands lying still within her grasp.

"I've been wanting to do that, with you, for a very long time."

He swallows visibly, looking even more nervous. She tries to find the words, the perfect words she was about to speak, the words that have suddenly deserted her.

"It's quite all right, Lizzie," he says softly, giving her hands the lightest of squeezes. "If you've satisfied your ... curiosity, or if you want me to go now, I do understand."

She stares at him, frowning, her train of thought derailed, trying to make sense of what he just said.

"No, Red, that's not it at all," she manages, finally. 

This is so difficult, in the face of his calm, reasonable, friendly composure, exacerbated by the explicit invitation to return to their previous relationship.

"Yes, Lizzie?" he says encouragingly. His face almost a mask by now, his tells sliding away as if he's armoring himself inwardly against whatever she's going to say.

She should have just stayed with casual. Or she could have pretended to be asleep, figured out something less awkward.

He glances down at her bare breasts without expression, then returns his gaze to her face. She can't tell what he's thinking at all now.

She opens her mouth to speak.


	12. Coffee

"Red, if I asked you to come back to bed with me now, would you?"

He blinks at her, clearly absorbing the theoretical nature of her question before responding.

"Yes, Lizzie, although I might encourage you to drink a cup of coffee first."

He ventures a smile, but she's too nervous, too caught up in what she's trying to say.

"And if I asked you not to leave me?"

He shrugs, looking off into the distance for a moment.

"Not ever?" he asks.

Liz nods. "Not ever."

He shrugs again, looking a little helpless, his mouth twisting unhappily.

"That might not be the safest option..." he temporizes. Not rejecting the idea.

"What if I asked you to fall in love with me?"

Red lets out a sharp little bark of laughter, then stares at her mutely, and there's something beyond shock in his eyes, as if she just slapped him across the face, and he's bracing himself to see if she'll do it again.

She looks down at his hands, lifts them unresisting to her mouth, kisses the back of his left hand, then his right.

"I'm so crazy in love with you, Red," she says, staring down at his hands. "I don't know what I can do to earn your love ..."

His hands tremble in her grasp, and she still can't look at his face until he begins to speak.

"I'm already yours, Lizzie." 

Liz can't deny the ring of truth in that voice. 

She meets his eyes, and suddenly tears of relief are spilling down her cheeks, and Red pulls her close, pressing kisses to the top of her head.

"Mine?" she manages, finally, snuffling against his shoulder. Making a mess of his vest and his freshly ironed shirt.

"Yours," he tells her, his deep voice rumbling in his chest as he pulls her tighter against him, then encourages her to lie back down in bed before reclining at her side, caressing her naked body in between slow, deep kisses. "I promise. But are you certain you don't want some coffee first, Lizzie?"

She shakes her head decisively before kissing him back, her hands reaching to untuck his shirt from his trousers, reaching for his skin. She wants to strip him naked, worship every inch of his body. 

"Coffee after."


End file.
